


Taṇhā

by Deos



Category: Vinland Saga (Anime)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Bittersweet Ending, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kissing, M/M, Oneshot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slash, 中文翻译 | Translation in Chinese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:22:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23053903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deos/pseuds/Deos
Summary: “Let me go!” Thorfinn wriggles, incensed. One hand isn't enough to free him from that iron grip. "Fight me like a man, you fucking coward! I'm going to kill you! I'm-""You stupid boy!" Askeladd winds his fingers through Thorfinn's hair, tugging viciously. It should hurt, but it doesn't, merely wrenches Thorfinn's head back to expose his throat and choke off his protests. "You couldn't kill me that first week, you haven't been able to in ten years. I'm beginning to think you don't want to."This fic is now available in Chinese, thanks to the wonderful jls20011425!
Relationships: Askeladd/Thorfinn (Vinland Saga)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 89
Collections: Prose From the Abyss





	Taṇhā

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [Taṇhā 愛欲](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24635884) by [jls20011425](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jls20011425/pseuds/jls20011425)



> Just finished what's been put out for the anime, couldn't help but write a little something for these two. Haven't read the manga at all, I may be extrapolating a lil'.
> 
> Thanks to [Solar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarRuffian/pseuds/SolarRuffian) and [Wander](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimObai/pseuds/KimObai) for betaing!

_Will this pain leave as quickly as you did?_

_-Karl Kristian Flores_

It's been so long since he's been here.

The land is covered in snow, small furrows plowed between buildings where people have gone from house to house, or else towards the town square. The ocean is as gray and frosty as iron ore. Iceland in winter is as cold and forbidding as it's ever been, but the sight fills him with inexplicable warmth.

He's home _._

His house is a squat shape among many, nearly identical to its neighbor. They're all brown, straw-roofed, snow-dusted. But it's unmistakably his. The wood box by the door, his father's creation. The unevenness of the roof, reconstructed after Ylva accidentally put her foot right through it. His home.

At the door, Thorfinn hesitates. Even though it's home, he's been gone a long time. Years. Will he be welcome?

He knocks instead of entering, like he's a perfect stranger coming to call.

No answer. It's possible that his mother is resting, or that she and Ylva have gone to milk the goats. It's cold outside, and he doesn't want to wait; surely they'll be glad to see him? 

He pushes the door open. 

To his surprise, there _is_ someone there, a form that for one wild moment his brain fills in as his father. How often had Thorfinn run home to see it? Thors, building the fire. Thors, hanging a rabbit skin up to dry. Thors, lost in thought, watching the flames gutter.

It’s not his father. The back of that blonde head is as familiar to him as his own blades. 

"Askeladd!" 

Thorfinn's daggers are in hand before Askeladd can even react. The fury that pumps through him is familiar, sickening. This is no place for that poisonous anger. But he can’t help it; the comforts of home have been spoiled by the sight of his father's killer warming himself at _Thors_ ' fireplace.

Askeladd doesn't even bother to face him, only tosses a quick glance over one shoulder. "Oh, Thorfinn. What are you doing here?"

"What am _I-_ " his breath catches in his throat, throttled by the force of his hate. When the dam finally breaks, his voice is embarrassingly ragged. "This is _my_ house, why the hell are _you_ here?"

Askeladd looks around, as though seeing the place for the first time. "Is it? I hadn't noticed."

It hurts. Worse than any punch he's ever taken, worse than a broken bone. Seeing Askeladd standing in the house his father built, running his fingers over the scratched wooden beams. He, who has no _right_ to be here.

Thorfinn will kill him.

"I'm going to kill you," he hisses, readying his blades.

Askeladd sighs. "Not _this_ again." 

He strolls away from the fire towards the low bench that runs along the house's central wall and plops down, leaning back on one palm. The other hand beckons to Thorfinn. "Well, come on then."

 _Let's get this over with_ is evident in every line of his face. 

Thorfinn doesn't move. 

"Get your sword!" he demands. Askeladd is soiling his honor by disrespecting him in his father's house, but grinding it into the dirt by refusing to even take up arms.

"I don't need a sword for this," Askeladd gestures again, a lazy flick of his fingertips. "Come. I want to dry my feet a little more after."

Thorfinn throws his daggers down with a growl of rage and lunges. 

Whenever it comes to Askeladd, Thorfinn has never been able to remain rational. Even though he’s had ten years to watch the man work. Even though he _knows_ Askeladd’s slyer than a fox, and twice as quick. He just can’t help it. Askeladd’s always known his tenderest points; known exactly when to press and precisely how hard. So he jumps, heedless of the risk.

One booted foot slides out of the shadows, snake-quick and kicks him right in the leading shin. He stumbles. It feels like he falls forever, watching Askeladd’s knees get larger and larger.

Then, broad hands catch him. They pin one arm to his side and drag him forward onto Askeladd's lap, while one thigh slides over his knees, trapping him in place. 

"Hmph. Now _that_ was a pathetic display." Askeladd pouts at him, a grotesque downturn of his lips. "I'm insulted, Thorfinn."

“Let me go!” Thorfinn wriggles, incensed. One hand isn't enough to free him from that iron grip. "Fight me like a man, you fucking coward! I'm going to kill you! I'm-"

"You stupid boy!" Askeladd winds his fingers through Thorfinn's hair, tugging viciously. It should hurt, but it doesn't, merely wrenches Thorfinn's head back to expose his throat and choke off his protests. "You couldn't kill me that first week, you haven't been able to in ten years. I'm beginning to think you don't want to."

Then something sharp bites into his neck, a bolt of sensation that sinks right to his core. Warmth. Wetness. Has his throat been slit?

When Askeladd pulls back his lips are shining. Pink, not red, bloodless. Spit. Askeladd _bit_ him! 

"You don't want it enough."

Askeladd may be smirking but his eyes are cold. Calculating. The eyes of a man strong enough to plunge a blade through his father's throat. A _warrior's_ eyes.

Thorfinn's heart sinks. Again and again he finds himself here, on the wrong side of Askeladd's sword, or boot, or fist. No matter how fast he is, or how sharp his daggers. Even with all the motivation in the world, he just can't take that final, fatal step. 

Sometimes he thinks the gods are laughing at him. Why did they gift him with this strength, this speed if he can't even use it when he needs it most? What good _is_ he?

From fury to bleak despair, his mood plummets like an arrow whistling to earth. The anger had been reflexive, instinctive. Protective. A camouflage disguising the truth of the matter: that he can never hate Askeladd more than he hates his own weakness.

"Kill me." 

At his toneless pronouncement, Askeladd cocks his head. "Kill you? Why would I do that? You're far more useful alive."

"Do it." 

He'd be better off dead. Even dying without a weapon is better than this living hell; there's no way he’s going to Valhalla anyway. Valhalla is reserved for great warriors, people like his father.

"I think not." 

His anger roars back, railing against Askeladd's infuriating recalcitrance. " _Just do it already!"_

Askeladd's hand jerks, twisting Thorfinn’s neck harshly. “Do you ever shut up?” 

“Just kill me, you bastard!” Thorfinn pounds at Askeladd’s chest with the flat of his palm, too close to wind up for a decent punch. “Kill me, _kill m-mmmph!_ ” 

Askeladd’s mouth is on him, sealing over his lips as efficiently as a gag. He jolts, almost unseating himself - but Askeladd is too quick. The hand on Thorfinn’s back snakes possessively to his hip, while the hand in his hair slides to his neck, holding them together. 

_Too much_. 

The press of Askeladd’s nose against his. Whiskers tickling his chin and upper lip. A sliver of blue eye peeking out at him before Askeladd's eyelids shiver closed. 

Thorfinn's never been this close to _anyone_. Never even tried. Every instinct screams at him to break free, but he just can't. He's paralyzed. 

Askeladd is moving. His head tilts, slotting their mouths in a position that seems more natural. Wet warmth swipes over his frozen lips, startling them open. 

"You're supposed to kiss back," Askeladd rumbles against him. "C'mon. Move, boy."

And then he slips his tongue right into Thorfinn's stunned mouth.

The feeling of another's tongue snaps him out of his torpor. He draws his lips back in a snarl, and bites – but his teeth click on empty air. Askeladd's anticipated him.

"Thought you might try that." The hand is back in his hair, holding him firmly. "You really are an idiot." 

"Just fight me the _mnn-_ "

Askeladd's mouth smothers his again, drowning the words. "No, we're not starting that up," he murmurs. "This is no time for a duel." 

His eyes are strange; a tender amalgamation of amusement, annoyance, and something darker. "No time. You understand, don't you Thorfinn?" 

The fingers in his hair scratch at his scalp, gentle, compared to the tight hold. And Thorfinn…

Thorfinn _does_ understand.

"Stupid baldy," he croaks. The hate that had poured through him has sunk right into the marrow of his bones, filling him with a deep, pervasive ache that centers in the back of his throat. "You never give me what I want."

"Quit whining." Askeladd grins, that sly, wicked smirk that Thorfinn's always wanted to punch right off his stupid face. "You're such a brat." 

They move simultaneously. Thorfinn reaches, and Askeladd tilts his chin down to bring them together again. It's gentle, nothing like the suffocating embrace before, and maybe that's what makes it so much easier to accept. 

He's never kissed anyone. Only seen the quick pecks between his parents, or the terrified submission of the slave women to their masters. This is nothing like that. It's slick and urgent and hot, like Askeladd is trying to pour his soul right down Thorfinn's throat.

And he can't get enough of it.

Thorfinn scoots closer, shoving his way forward on Askeladd's lap until he's flush with his hard black breastplate. His fingers card over its smooth surface, searching fruitlessly. This isn't what he wants. Cold, dark metal – no. He needs what's warm and alive underneath.

He breaks the kiss, frustrated, and yanks at it. "Take this off!" 

Askeladd laughs, but peels it off and tosses it to the floor with a hollow clatter. "Impatient boy."

Thorfinn doesn't care. There's a whole world now to explore, or at least there would be if Askeladd weren't wearing so many fucking _layers_. 

"You're still wearing too much!" Now he picks at the tunic, the padded gambeson, his long-sleeved undershirt. What feels like inches of material separate them. It's important, so terribly important that he be able to feel that heat skin-to-skin, though he can't put his finger on exactly why.

"Hmph. You're as demanding as a woman," Askeladd grunts. He stands up, dumping Thorfinn unceremoniously from his lap, and begins to unlace his boots.

The decision comes to Thorfinn in a flash. 

"Not here!" he blurts out. Askeladd only raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him. "I mean, anyone can walk in. Come back here."

He leads Askeladd to the bedroom. The _family's_ collective bedroom, a set of four straw and fur-covered frames overlaid with linen blankets. His is in the furthest corner. It looks exactly the same, from the patchy brown-and-white rabbit furs to the sun glyph scratched onto the wood above the head of the bed.

It should feel like betrayal, bringing Askeladd here. But rising urgency pounds through him, hastening the speed at which his fingers work the fastenings.

The layers melt away, puddling to the floor. Askeladd sits on the end of the bed. This time when Thorfinn slides onto Askeladd's lap it's to feel the glorious warmth of skin against his own, the tickle of hair as their calves brush. When his groin nestles firmly against Askeladd's, he shivers. 

Askeladd's hands perch lightly on his hips, but he doesn't move. "Now what?" His blue eyes are laughing, but his face is smooth and blank.

He wants Thorfinn to say it, but Thorfinn won't. Doesn't need to.

He leans forward, and this time it's him covering Askeladd's mouth.

With him leading, the kiss is sloppy, uncoordinated. As enthusiastic as he is, he can't quite decide whether it's better to use lips or tongue. All he knows is that he needs to get closer, get _in_. He's just figuring it out when Askeladd cradles his neck in one palm and begins to guide him. 

_It's just like dueling_. He'd never thought it could be this way, but there it is; him, seeking an opening, Askeladd, reacting to every press and thrust of his tongue. 

It builds into an effortless harmony. His mind retreats to a zone usually reserved for fighting; the kind of tranquil, thoughtless place where timing and techniques come as effortlessly as breathing. Then, Askeladd wrenches them apart and goes for his throat.

Teeth close on his neck, a gentle bite followed by intense, sucking pressure. He groans, thrusting his hips forward and grinding his erection firmly against Askeladd's belly.

When did that happen? 

He couldn't even say. Doesn't care anymore. The thunderbolt of sensation has him doing it again, humping helplessly against Askeladd's warm bulk. It's too good. He _needs_ more.

"This is why I hate kids," Askeladd murmurs against his damp skin. "Too damn greedy. You're rushing the best part." 

On the next thrust the hands on Thorfinn's hips move lower, cupping his ass and crushing their groins together.

"Fuck!" 

Askeladd chuckles into his ear. "See? Isn't it better when we work together?"

"Shut up," Thorfinn pants, and silences the next laugh with his mouth.

His desire to touch has him tipping Askeladd back onto the bed. Soft pelts on his knees, warm skin beneath him - it's heaven. Thorfinn presses down, sealing them together chest-to pelvis and groans when he feels Askeladd, hot and hard against him. When he flexes his hips it grinds them both together, earning him a hiss of pleasure.

Thorfinn loses himself in that sweet, rocking rhythm. His brain has sunk to some murky place where instinct dominates, spurred by pleasure and the soft, incredible sounds that Askeladd makes with each thrust. 

_Gods._

He wants to stay. This place has to be at least as good as Hel. With no guarantee of Valhalla, will the gods take pity on him just this once and let him stay?

"Thorfinn…"

 _No._ Just a little more. He's so close!

Then Askeladd sinks his teeth into Thorfinn's neck, and he loses it. 

He jolts awake as orgasm crashes through him, his moans muffled to harsh pants as his throat seizes from shock. Reality returns to him in a cold rush. 

He's in a barn in some godforsaken farm, sentenced to slavery for attacking Prince - no, _King_ Canute.

The ground beneath him is straw-scratchy and lukewarm from his own body. No lithe, muscular chest presses against his own, no clever lips curl against his throat.

There's a wet patch on his thigh. It's gluing his tunic to him uncomfortably, but it's only a distant discomfort. Much larger is the loss creeping through him like black water, freezing him to the core.

Askeladd is gone.

His ashes lie in some cold grave somewhere under a pile of rocks, or else crammed alongside some other soul in a mass burial site. That is if they didn't just hang his corpse and let the birds pick him clean. Thorfinn doesn't know what sort of burial regicide earns.

A furtive sound catches his attention.

Thorfinn turns his head to see the other slaves, crowded together on the opposite wall. Three sets of wide eyes blink in the darkness. Had he been moaning? Muttering? Rutting into the ground like a beast in heat?

He finds he doesn't really care. Thorfinn curls up on his side facing away from them, tucking his knees to his chest.

It doesn't help. Inside he's cold and hollow. 

Thors is gone, and now Askeladd. They've moved on to Valhalla or Fólkvangr or Hel; wherever they are, it's somewhere Thorfinn can't follow. He is really, truly alone.

He closes his eyes, and drowns in the memories.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

>  _Taṇhā_ \- thirst, craving, or desire. 
> 
> There are three types:
> 
>  _Kāma-taṇhā_ : craving for sense objects which provide pleasant feeling, or craving for sensory pleasures.  
>  _Bhava-taṇhā_ : craving to be something, to unite with an experience.  
>  _Vibhava-taṇhā_ : craving to not experience unpleasant things in the current or future life.
> 
> Thanks Wikipedia!


End file.
